Ishval
by Pahndah
Summary: There is little comfort to be found in the midst of war - Riza Hawkeye knows that all too well. However, she is able to find temporary comfort in the arms of an old friend.


Riza leaned her head on the bar counter, taking in a ragged breath. The sand had been blowing extra that day while she was out on the field. There was no way to escape inhaling some of the rough dust, even with her scarf tightly drawn over her mouth. She coughed, took in a deep breath, then took another deep swig of her whiskey.

It had become a steady habit of many of the soldiers, to wash down the horrors of the war once a week, when the bar tent was set up. Some would even go so far as to smuggle extra to their tents in order to indulge throughout the rest of the week, to drown out the screams, the explosions, the memories.

She cringed when the burning liquid scratched its way down her throat. It provided little relief to the dry feeling that was overly familiar. She suddenly remembered eyes. Red eyes. Small, young, innocent, red eyes… they went blank before her. She took another drink.

She felt someone brush against her sleeve and barely flinched. She was used to being pushed around, shoved, touched, inside the bar tent. Rarely was anyone sober, and therefore they couldn't really keep their balance.

"Riza…"

Her head snapped up at the familiar voice, and she made eye contact with the Flame Alchemist. Her stomach twisted up in disgust, all the stories of his "accomplishments" flooding her mind. She wanted to tell him to get lost, that she wasn't interested in a hook-up. Just because this was war and everyone was desperate for comfort, didn't mean she'd be taken so easily.

Before she knew it, he'd grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards off her barstool.

"Mustang!" Riza cried, stumbling backwards and being dragged through a crowd of people. Livid, she yanked her arm away, rounding on him. She glowered and opened her mouth, preparing a few choice words for the State Alchemist.

Her eyes widened, however, when he pulled her into his arms forcefully, grasping the cloth on the back of her blue jacket tightly with one hand, gently holding her head against his shoulder with the other. She blinked, confusion erupting within her. Suddenly she was angry, indignant, confused, and… and sad. All at once.

Her face calmed. Her eyebrows furrowed, and slowly Riza reached her arms around his back, clutching at his jacket as well. At her movement, she heard a soft "mfph" escape his throat, and he pressed his body closer to hers. It wasn't perverted; it wasn't sexual.

He needed her.

She turned her face slightly into the crook of his neck, the dusty smell of his uniform's collar filling her nostrils. She swallowed hard as he continued to hold her – safely, securely.

He began to rock her back and forth, and she clutched at the back of his jacket even more desperately. She couldn't explain how much she didn't want to let go. Such a large amount of comfort, from one tiny human.

She blinked her eyes open in surprise when she heard Roy Mustang sniffle. Was he crying? He turned his face into her neck as well and sniffled again. Riza closed her eyes, her stomach twisting up. There was so much pain inside of her, from all that she'd done, all that she'd seen.

Even pain of longing.

Did she want him? Still? He was her first crush – one could say her first love. Riza would admit to herself, once she'd taken a few sips of a choice alcoholic beverage, that her feelings for him had never left. But they were entertwined with jealousy over the other women he'd been with; indignancy over him trying to pick her up like just another girl; hurt over rejection.

As he readjusted his grasp on her back, continuing to hold her, Riza felt her eyes burn.

Yes. She wanted him. She couldn't let go. If she let go, he'd go back on the field. He'd be in danger. He could die.

She could die, too.

She lowered her arms slowly, choking back tears. Roy lowered his arms as well, figuring she was finished with the embrace. However, Riza tossed her arms around his neck instead, pulling herself evermore into his embrace. Roy's eyes closed tightly, a deep frown plastering his face. He grasped at her waist, at her back – anything to prevent her from leaving.

They held each other, both desperate to be assured the other was okay. That they would be okay.

Would they be okay?

The bell rang. Riza tensed, her eyes snapping open. No, it couldn't be time to turn in already. She wouldn't.

She felt Roy start to back away from her, and pulled herself even more closely to him. She buried her face in his shoulder, swallowing hard, choking back tears. He couldn't leave.

Roy's eyes opened, eyebrows furrowed in dismay. He had to go. They'd be rounded up anyway. But as he tried, she held more tighly, and his arms did in return of their own accord.

Footsteps echoed behind them as the other soldiers left the bar tent. Soon it would be just the two of them, and they'd be caught – yelled at for fraternizing and sent to their tents, possibly with punishment. He clenched his teeth

He pulled away again, and Riza let her arms fall this time. Frowning, he looked into her chestnut eyes. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach when he saw the tears at the corner of those beautiful, lost-innocence eyes. He swallowed hard.

He gently cupped her cheek in his hand, giving her a meaningful look, trying to transfer his thoughts best he could. They'd see each other again. They would. They had to.

He pulled his hand away, turning and quickly walking away. He couldn't stop, or he wouldn't leave. But he looked back. He looked back and saw her standing, limp, staring as he left, horrified look back in her eyes. She was scared. How could she not be? He turned again, and left.

Riza swallowed hard, the lump in her throat thick. Noticing she was one of the few left in the bar tent, she hurried out, stumbling her way over the rocks and provisions back to her tent. She flopped onto her bed, not bothering to undress. It was hard, dusty, and smelled of sweat. She passed out immediately.


End file.
